God
by maichips
Summary: Love. It's something they both felt for each other, craved to receive from the other. But with hardened facades set firmly in place, would either of them show it? Not AU, but 'altered circumstances.' Matt and Mello. One-shot.


**A/N:** This is my first ever attempt at fanfiction, and I wrote it as a birthday present for my dearest friend, clairvoyantchild. Eighteen years and counting! Happy birthday, and congratulations, Clair-chan!

Just as a reminder, Death Note belongs to Ohba-sensei and Obata-sensei. And I don't own Nintendo either. This story contains mild yaoi and spoilers up to chapter 99 in Death Note. Oh, and another thing! This isn't AU, but it is... altered circumstances. You'll understand once you read it.

XXXXX

**God**

"Bowser, you royal pain in the ass..." Matt murmured, clamping his teeth down in frustration and crushing his ashen cigarette. He clutched the Nintendo DS in a tense grip, fearing that he was out of practice for such extreme button-mashing. His fingers worked feverishly to nail some of the most complex button combos imaginable, something relatively new to the normally child-friendly Mario franchise. He had bought this latest addition several months ago, but today was its very first trial run under his deft fingertips. Immediately after its purchase, all hell had broken loose in Mello's competitive spirit, forcing the redhead to postpone nearly _all_ of his hardcore gaming.

But despite his time-consuming duties – hacking into private systems, tediously watching monitors for hours on end, and even getting his ass fucked clear back to Wammy's, just to name a few – he had managed to memorize every single button combo possible in "Super Mario: Kira's Comrades." But, hell, all of his diligent memorization wasn't even helping him against Bowser's anti-justice bullshit.

Somewhere in the depths of his intellect, Matt realized that a game like this was sick, the product of some sick minds with only one thought: profit. Yet the use of Kira as a positive force in the game actually helped out the video game industry. Kira wouldn't harass the dudes who created mature, violently stylized games just as long as they licked his boots a little. In truth, it was a pathetic premise for a video game, because _seriously_. Mario would _not_ take orders from Kira. 'He's just too badass and Italian for that,' Matt mused as he dealt Bowser a heart attack, just one of Mario's new moves, to be placed alongside the ability to spit fire and become a raccoon.

In the end, the redhead didn't really care whether Mario had been turned into an ass-kissing Kira worshipper; to him, it was a video game, something to be revered as the highest form of entertainment, sex being a close second. As a dedicated gamer, he felt an obligation to play it to the end. Fuck, they could've portrayed the little mustachioed plumber as a crack whore, and Matt would still play just for the sheer love of gaming.

But he certainly knew someone who _would_ care that he had bought – and was playing – that electronic piece of Kira propaganda. It was that same someone who had nearly covered half of his body in scars in a fight-or-flight battle, whose emotions were constantly waging war with his staggeringly powerful genius. That someone who could reduce Matt to a bloody heap on the floor if he desired and still demand brutal sex directly afterwards. If the blond ever found out about Mario's Kira-controlled adventures, the redhead foresaw a bullet hole cracking through his own skull...

"Bastard," he grumbled around his chewed cigarette butt, unsure whether he was cursing Mello or King Koopa. He removed the dead cigarette from his lips and dropped it into an empty beer can, reaching absentmindedly to feel-up the coffee table in search of his fresh pack. His hand made swift contact with it, and he single-handedly slid out an un-smoked nicotine stick. He set it to balance precariously between his gently parted lips without lighting it, savoring the gentle taste that acted as a prelude to an addictive fix.

Yeah, Mello was a cheeky bitch for sure, and far more demanding than any female Matt had ever fucked with. Not to mention worlds cleverer. Although always fated to be number two at Wammy's, he was the only guy Matt knew who could transform that perpetual failure into a passionate pursuit to be the intellectual top dog and acquire immense physical power in the process. He practically had the mafia dangling from his pinky finger. With all that intelligence and resolve and raw emotion seeping from every orifice in the blond's body, you'd think that he just _might_ possess a fraction of the need for affection that the gamer's old girlfriends had.

What-the-fuck-ever. Like _that_ would ever happen.

Despite any wishful thinking Matt cared to harbor, he always knew that Mello was a hardened soul, insensitive to the plights of those around him. And it always disappointed him when he realized this fact. He often tried to delude himself, convincing himself that somewhere deep within, the blond had a beating heart like the rest of humanity, and that it was a fairly sensitive organ that loved just as much as it hated. He would lead himself on by those feeble hopes, waiting for the day that Mello would kiss him with more than just rambunctious sex in mind. But the older boy's lips were a taunt to his emotions, only seeking the hot mesh of saliva-slick tongues warring in the humidity of their colliding mouths...

So Mello got all the sex he wanted, and so did Matt. But a little more wouldn't hurt. Something more than just rough sensation between the two of them. And the redhead craved it, starved for it, longed desperately for a little... love.

Matt sighed, losing the heart for gaming; _those_ kinds of thoughts always slowed his fingers. He shut off the handheld, tossing it aside to rest on a neighboring couch cushion. Propping his sock-covered feet on the coffee table, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes to stare blindly up at heaven. And a thought formed in his head, more of a prayer than anything else...

'God?' he asked silently as his tongue flicked at the unlit cigarette between his teeth. 'I'm kind of an atheist, you know? I've never gotten any signs that you're there. But, well, the day that Mello... um, does something out of... out of love... for me... That'll be my sign. I'll believe. Just so you know. No pressure on me, though, because I know it's impossible...'

As Matt lounged limply on their ratted couch, he felt his body grow heavier with each relaxed breath he drew, and he lowered his orange-tinted goggles over his lidded eyes distractedly. His thoughts flickered lazily, showing him a small boy dressed in white... a kindly old man... a stranger with the face of an insomniac... and a scrawny blond child whose angelic features were no more... Quietly, he drifted to sleep.

XXXXX

"Buying this for someone special, sir?"

"It's for my bitch," Mello answered with a smooth tongue, finding amusement in the offended glare he received from the Japanese store clerk. Sometimes the Japanese sense of prudence truly grated on his already taut nerves, clashing with his own warped system of values, but there were a few occasions when it was remarkably humorous to him. Like now, for example. The little Asian man behind the cash register seemed to be warring with himself inside, desiring to express his distaste verbally yet also turn his cheek when faced with a big-spending customer.

The mafia man turned away casually, offering no apology for his offensive comment. He tucked the newly-purchased parcel under his arm and entered the flowing stream of faceless people on the sidewalks. Despite the calming anonymity that everyone shared as they strolled past one another (never making eye contact for etiquette's sake), Mello always felt their eyes searing into him. Of course, as a blond in a land brimming with chocolate-haired natives, he was destined to stand out, and he regarded that with a certain amount of respect. But _that_ wasn't the reason why he collected multitudes of stares. No, those passersby gawked at a much darker sight, one that even curdled Mello's blood when he saw it in the mirror. He had been the owner of that hideous burn scar for almost three months, and still he wasn't accustomed to it...

Clutching at the disfigurement, trying to cover its entirety with his leather-clad hand, he turned the street corner with a scowl on his face. The stares it drew were annoying at best, ranging from gross displays of sympathy to looks of unadulterated repugnance. Ever-so slowly, he was adapting to his new place in the eyes of strangers, snarling a little less when someone stared too long. But right now, the gaping faces turned his mood sour, and the package in his grip didn't help anything...

That damned package... Why had he bought it again? For his bitch. Of course. He would never have bought this fucking thing for his own enjoyment. Never. Its purchase had been an uncomfortable ordeal in itself, and Mello anticipated an even higher degree of embarrassment when it would be put to use later on in the day. He cringed, reflecting distastefully on the fact that it had originated in a store called "Feetish," obviously an Engrish variation of the word fetish.

Not to imply that Matt had any weird obsessions, of course. And even if he did, Mello wouldn't cater to them so readily. No, he hadn't bought this _thing _for the redhead to satisfy any unnatural desires. On the contrary, the blond wished to indulge the more _natural_ side of the gamer's urges. For he had often observed, through repeated sexual contact, something... _odd_ about the younger boy's responses. There was something distinctly... tender about the way Matt handled him, even when the blond kissed him, bit, clawed, tangled, and penetrated him in the sweltering heat of the bedroom...

Although such rough, mind-clouding actions often served as a release from coherent thought, there was always somewhere deep in Mello's mind that detected a hunger within the boy that was never sated, no matter how many times they had fucked. And he had the strangest notion that he actually knew what it was, even craved it himself sometimes...

Love. The word's implications made him wince.

It was a sentiment that the emotionally hardened blond would never have admitted to himself a mere eight days ago, before the kidnapping incident with Kiyomi Takada, the pampered tart chosen by Kira as a spokeswoman. Organizing that task had been an extraordinarily grueling and stressful operation, involving more than just the endangerment of his own life. Matt had nearly been caught and killed by Takada's thugs, and Mello would never forget the strain he felt throughout his entire body that had nothing to do with his own precarious position as he watched the gamer's car on his mini television screen. It was at that moment that he had a startling revelation: he needed Matt. Not merely as an expert hacker, nor as a sex object, but as someone with whom he could connect emotionally as well as physically...

But that didn't change his feelings toward this mother_fucking_ package. The prospect of unleashing its contents repulsed him, prompting him to walk as slowly as possible. His shoulders were tense, and the muscles tightened steadily with every step he took toward the apartment. Eventually, his shoulders insufferably rigid and squared, he stopped his trek, pausing to lean against a cold brick wall. The cold seeped into his body, acting as a salve for the tightly drawn sinews of his neck and upper back.

Chocolate. Chocolate would be the cure for all of his built up tension. Mello's mouth watered as the thought of bittersweet smoothness, melting and cascading over his tongue, took hold of his mind and calmed his nerves. He was suddenly spurred onward, driven by chocolate, chocolate, _chocolate_...

By the time he had scaled the stairway up to his and Matt's home, his desire for chocolate – he licked his lips with longing – had overridden all other drives he may have felt, especially the anticipation of his approaching humiliation. Securing the package against his chest, he twisted the key in the lock and gave the door a controlled push. It swung open slowly under his touch, and he stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind him in the hope of avoiding Matt's immediate acknowledgment. He turned to appraise the interior, his eyes having no choice but to glance over the chaotic, cord-covered living room. God, that mess irritated him. It turned their living room into a danger zone, and Mello never could avoid getting his feet tangled. But the hacker refused to organize it even a little...

The blond started as his eyes swept over the zebra-striped gamer, lazing on the couch with a cigarette in between his lips. Had he seen Mello come in? Immediately, his initial panic gave way to a feeling of relief. Matt was asleep. Asleep and exposed to Mello's curious gaze...

The blond never tired of watching the gamer sleep, yet another guilty pleasure he had only recently been able to recognize. The way his red hair fell in a shaggy mess around his computer-paled face, his gently parted lips giving way to unconscious flicks of his tongue, the relaxed demeanor he took on, as if caught in a child's innocent dreams. All of these qualities had snaked their way into Mello's scope of awareness, threatening to shatter even more of his emotional resilience.

The mafia man cleared his throat, wrenching himself from his troublesome reverie. He had things to accomplish before Matt awoke, and he couldn't bother turning the knowledge that the redhead was asleep into a distraction. On the contrary, it helped his cause immensely. The element of surprise was crucial in order to achieve the desired effect.

Purposefully, Mello strode into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. He searched inside for a mere second before locating and hungrily snatching three chocolate bars from his already dwindling stash. Ammunition in tow, alongside the parcel that was the bane of his masculine existence, he retreated into the bathroom with one thought racing through his mind:

'This had better be fucking worth it.'

XXXXX

Mello emerged almost two hours later from the bathroom, shivering with anger and the embarrassment brought on by heavy skin exposure. With a snarl forming on his face, he entered the living room, relieved to see that Matt still slept soundly. 'Maybe I won't have to do this after all,' he grunted to himself, inciting a self-disciplined reprimand. How could he even _think_ about backing out now? After troubling himself to purchase the damned thing, carrying it out of that shop with other people to bear witness, he couldn't abandon this degrading, self-imposed burden now. He had no choice but to follow through.

"Matt!" he called sharply, leaning against the doorframe between hallway and living room, facing Matt on the couch. "Wake up!"

"Wha – ?" the redhead yelped, his body jerking forward in response to the angry-sounding voice. The unlit cigarette felt out of his mouth, landing gently on his knee, and he rubbed his eyes drowsily before squinting up at the slender figure in the doorway. As consciousness claimed him, his swimming vision cleared, and the sight before him sent his thoughts reeling. "Mello, you're – "

"Don't. Say. Anything," the blond snapped testily, holding up a silencing hand. He felt heat spread across his cheeks, offering no warmth to the rest of his body. "If you say _anything_ about this to _anyone_ – even me – I will personally make certain that you regret your loose lips. Understand?"

Matt clamped his mouth shut, nodding with a stunned wideness in his eyes, and he felt his heart begin to run a race in his chest. There before him stood, not the Mello he knew – the insensitive beauty whose whims always toyed with his emotions – but a wholly different person, brimming with a clear sense of modesty as his arms clutched each other uncomfortably.

All Matt could do was gape in fascination. The revealing neckline of the maid outfit allowed his eyes to study that scar that Mello always hid out of anger and humiliation. He marveled at its deep pink hue, the way it jaggedly transitioned into the smooth, pale flesh of his neck, causing an unnatural contrast of skin tones... The blond glared at his wandering gaze, but did nothing to prevent it... The redhead marveled at the way the velvet melded to the slender waist in a decidedly feminine way, flaring out from his hips into a short, lacy skirt...

Mello began to traverse the short distance between the doorway and the couch, but to him it felt as though ages were passing. He was almost mortified by the expression on Matt's face, one of stark, shameless longing, and he attempted to counter it with some of his more threatening frowns. But the redhead wasn't even looking at his face anymore, and that knowledge made him shiver. Matt had never bared his feelings so openly before, but the blond realized too that he had never before made himself so... _vulnerable_. And it wasn't even the sleazy costume that made him feel bare. Because this time, he wasn't _taking_, forcing Matt to submit to his own needs. No... This was different... He was _giving_.

...Matt's eyes grazed the blond's exposed legs, noting their leanness... And, holy shit, were those fishnets?! A small gasp escaped his lips, realizing that Mello had actually crossed the room, was standing right in front of him. His eyes finally traveled back to the beautiful, scarred visage looming above him, and his breathing stopped entirely as his mind registered the look of utter insecurity in the older boy's face.

Mello lowered himself onto the redhead's lap, straddling his legs tentatively, as though uncertain whether he was doing any of this correctly. He sighed, he eyes averted from the fierce desire on Matt's face, knowing that he could never take back any of this no matter how many threats he cared to make.

"Matt," he said, still looking away. His self-control remained tightly intact, despite his urge to tremble. "Today is the first day of February..."

"Yeah..." Matt replied distractedly as his hands instinctively fell to either side of the blond's velveteen waist. The beginnings of arousal clouded his mind, and the purpose of Mello's words remained lost until he spoke again.

"Happy birthday, Matt..." Mello murmured, an even fiercer blush taking hold of his cheeks. He leaned in, pressing their lips together slowly, sensually...

...kissing Matt in a way the redhead had always craved and lusted after. As Mello began moving on his lap, their lips giving way to tongues and the taste of chocolate, the gamer allowed himself to wonder how long the blond had been planning this, what the hell had made him want to do this. But he didn't wonder for long as their kiss deepened and his hands searched for a zipper on the barely-worn dress...

'Holy hell, shit, fuck.' Rational thought nearly evaded him, but one lucid notion became starkly clear to him before he surrendered all of his senses to Mello's willingly submissive body...

'There is a God.'


End file.
